Love
by cryybabyy
Summary: NXM drabbles


Strange love

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He doesn't like to cuddle. He likes to grip my hips and pull the fibers of pink tissue in shreds from my lip with his teeth. He throws his hands in the air like a messiah and leans his head out the open window. Easy. Breathe. Codeine. Breeze. We laugh loudly and kiss loudly and moan loudly. He mouths vulgar things that make me giggle in front of our friends. I run my hand along the seam off his tight black jeans beneath the table top. He rolls his eyes and smirks at me. We take every opportunity to touch, to feel, so secretly. So public. Exhibitionist pleasure. We play like children, tousling my hair and I climb on his back. We talk rapidly and vigorously and trip over each other's sentences like a sidewalk crack. He says 'us' like it means 'amen' and his eyes burn wild with a fire of passion. We get drunk. Off of wine and skin and things we love. His smile erupts across his face like it could shatter his cheekbones. His eyes glimmer like a lake catching the glare of the moonlight. He thinks he is the hottest man on earth. I laugh and agree. He loves to act so much older than me. He thinks it makes him wise. We spend a lot of time in hotel rooms with the doors shut. (We spend a lot of time outside of hotel rooms with our mouths shut.) He makes the sex last longer and I don't argue. I always wake up first. I sit at the desk and work quietly and glance at him in the sheets. Vulnerable and quiet. Soft face. Soft sounds. A warm cup of coffee and marmalade light through the windows. We bond over love for our brothers. We fight over where the chord change should go. We tease, oh we tease. He likes clean socks and messy hair and he runs his fingers down my overall straps with a tigers grin. He writes his name in the fog on the mirror from where he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pressed my face against the glass. He loves soul music. We sing confidently and triumphantly. I tap my fingers like spiders legs across his bare chest and undo his buttons one by one. I toss my head back and laugh maniacally and pout my lips when he won't be fair. He speaks like a pastor and trips over his words; his tongue struggles to meet his brain. That's how a prodigy thinks. (Or it's the drugs). He knows when my words are about him and he lets it all go to his head and I don't care because I love to watch him love himself. We laugh and fuck and play and write and plot and say goodbye and never worry. He is my occasional constant. A parody of himself. A paradox of ever present and transparent. I don't care what he is. We're both attracted to characters, and we saw that in each other. I spent a lot of time watching him and he spent a lot of time loving being watched. But if you think he's the first red-wine-drinking, pretty-boy rocker in skinny jeans I've … been associated with, you're out of your fucking mind.

Once we became involved with each other, our colours intertwined. Being submerged in his world literally ripped me apart due to being overly infatuated with him, and then losing myself in the process. Despite the fact that he is metaphorically ripped due to his addictions and tumultuous past, I still view him as a beautiful creation. I'm getting to know him through a deeper connection. As he continues to spill himself into the open, I'm dwelling in his emotions and thoughts in order to understand him better, all which justify my mind-set that he's a work of art. He's known for hisdark colours, which would explain why his persona is drained. He is submerged in his dark lifestyle, making him devoid of colour. There is an obvious lack of colour within and around him. Grey being a dull hue, it may represent sadness or death, which can correlate perfectly with how he views life. The dark and mysterious vibe he gives off, leaving him with a troubled head on his shoulders. He's blue – sad, unbalanced, and lost in trying to understand where this emptiness is coming from. He's got his own demons – his family has been torn due to divorce, and he's had to battle drug addictions.

He isn't even a bad person. He frightens and intimidates everyone. But he still is an extremely generous person. He may act all mature compared to 'his boys' but he still would do anything for them. He is extremely loyal; he cares for me lot. I honestly couldn't wish for a better boyfriend.

But because of his good looks and his father being a very rich company advisor, I have been a victim of fame. He'd always tell me to shrug it off, he'd tell me he'd kill every single one of them people who send hate mail and I laugh and tell him I love him. But it's not just haters gossiping about my personal life, which simply comes out as noise. Meanwhile, I'm tired of everyone taking pictures of me: not only the paparazzi, but even fans. Being the centre of constant attention requires poise, something I dislike out of my desire to be my normal self at times, rather than appearing as a perfect being. I know very well that complaining about my problems is futile – it won't change anything, and it won't make things much better.

But I honestly want to live life for the fun things. Mostly him. His games. They're fun. Hate isn't.

He is a bit of a jerk though. He thinks he is the best. Egoistical. Conceited. Narcissistic. With a subtle and soft approach, this man establishes that his sex game is godly and unmatched. But despite that, this man and me, together, feel our love is invincible and in control.

This man…. Natsume Hyuuga.

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 **Idk what this is, I was just reeaally bored. It was gonna be a one shot, but I might just add drabbles chapters? Fluffy ones? Maybe mature ones? Idk, tell me what you guys want in the comments (((:**

 **Cryybabyy**


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